


Melancholy

by Traxits



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Dirge of Cerberus: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 05:55:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7422505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Traxits/pseuds/Traxits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things didn't change with the end of the world.  Some things did.  For Reeve, he still gets visitors in the middle of night, but these days, it seems to be a literal demon instead of simply one in a blue suit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Melancholy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EvilRobotCat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilRobotCat/gifts).



> Originally posted [here](http://traxits.tumblr.com/post/146537640977/youll-get-so-sick-of-seeing-my-icon-i-swear-xd) on my Tumblr.

Some things didn’t change with the end of the world. Some things, like paperwork, only piled up. No matter what Reeve did, he couldn’t seem to escape it, and he sat at what passed for a desk these days, tapping his pen on the edge of his desk. He could hear the clock ticking, and he closed his eyes for a minute, trying to make himself concentrate. The sooner he got this done, the sooner he could sleep, and the sooner he could sleep…

Well. The sooner he could wake up and face a brand new pile of it to do all over again.

He sighed, leaning forward. Then he pushed away from the desk, and he crossed the room. The fireplace crackled, throwing light across everything, and after a heartbeat of considering it, Reeve clicked off the overhead lights. It would give his eyes a break, maybe lessen the pounding ache at the edges of his senses. Reeve couldn’t remember the last time he didn’t have a headache if he was honest, and he blew out a breath as he reached up to rub the bridge of his nose. Then his temples.

Then he turned around to look at the table he’d set up a while back. He opened up the record player, salvaged from some building and gifted to him by Tseng. The record was one of his own, though, and it had appeared in the room the last time Reno had dropped off paperwork. Reeve hadn’t asked him about it. How could he? What would Reno even tell him? That they’d already salvaged what was left of Upper Eight, that this record had possibly been the only thing that had survived–

Reeve set the needle on the edge, and the sound was scratchy. It had been for years, and he had no doubt that it was from the sheer number of times he’d played it. He’d taught Tseng to dance to this record, how to dance the way he’d be expected to in Midgar. And they’d both taught Reno to it. And Reeve had even danced with Cait standing on his feet to it, a facsimile of the children his mother had probably expected of him, of life he could have had.

Not, of course, that he regretted the life he did have. His life was his own, and nothing could change that. Nothing would change that.

He didn’t dance to it now. He only stood in front of the fireplace, hands braced on the mantel, and he watched the fire. If anyone had asked, he’d have said he was thinking.

But there was no one to ask.

A faint smile twitched at his lips, and he closed his eyes.

He stayed there just like that for the length of the record. And when it finally finished, his eyes eased open, and he wasn’t surprised at all to feel the heat in the backs of them. No, he didn’t regret, he couldn’t–

“But you do.”

The voice should have surprised him. It should have made him jerk, should have made him spin around. But this was his life, wasn’t it? His smile widened, and he blinked a few times before he answered lowly, “Not really. … Does Vincent know you’re here?”

“Does it change anything whether or not he does?”

The scratchy music resumed, and Reeve turned around to look up at Chaos, watching his hand drop away from the record player. It wasn’t the first time Chaos had shown up. It wasn’t going to be the last either; he’d imagine. He lifted his chin slightly, looking Chaos straight in the eyes, and he pressed his lips together. Then he shrugged.

It should have mattered. But the fact was, Chaos was like Vincent himself. They did whatever they were going to do, no matter what anyone thought of it. There was a trick to herding cats, and it involved bait. It meant getting the cat to want to go where you wanted him.

Reeve had a feeling he knew exactly what bait worked for Chaos, even if he was still grappling with finding it for Vincent.

“You should be asleep,” Chaos murmured, and he closed the distance between them almost before Reeve could see him move at all. "Not standing here, being… so mortal.“

“I am mortal,” Reeve countered. "It’s what you like about me, isn’t it?“

"Not this part.”

Before Chaos could say anything else, Reeve reached out for him. It always startled Chaos, always made him hesitate when Reeve touched him first, and this time was no different. Reeve pushed his fingers between Chaos’s, holding onto him. Then, on a whim that he hadn’t indulged since before the old President’s death, he stepped in close. Too close for Chaos’s comfort, Reeve could see that, but it was comforting for Reeve.

“You don’t like my melancholy?” Reeve asked, looking up at him. "Does it affect me?“

Chaos stared at him, eyes narrow and sharp, and then he dipped his head in to breathe just beside Reeve’s ear. It was a deep breath, loud so close to him, and Reeve’s eyes closed for a heartbeat. Then he looked up as Chaos tilted his head, his face so close to Reeve’s throat…

"I can smell it on you,” Chaos finally said, and his voice was so quiet that Reeve barely heard it over the music. "In your soul. It colors it.“

Reeve chuckled, and he tugged on Chaos’s hand, pulling him in closer. When Chaos hesitated, Reeve reached for his other hand, guided it to Reeve’s hip. Because why not? As many memories as he had to this song, what was a dance with a demon?

"You should find something else to color my soul then,” Reeve murmured, and Chaos snorted, the barest huff of air.

Reeve wasn’t sure what he’d expected. But he hadn’t expected for Chaos to take a hold of him properly, to pull him in closer than Reeve had ever danced with anyone to this song. To any song on this record. He hadn’t expected for Chaos to move them, to be able to feel the music in every step, every breath–

“Valentine can dance,” Chaos said before Reeve could find the words to ask. "And it is not so very difficult to pry what I need from his mind.“

Reeve looked up at Chaos and raised an eyebrow. The smile that lurked there was oddly warm, though, almost affectionate, and no matter how violently Chaos worded his relationship with Vincent, Reeve got the impression that things were far more complicated between them than either of them ever admitted to.

"The same way he pries what he needs from yours?”

Chaos bared his teeth at the thought, and Reeve chuckled as he dropped his eyes. For a moment more, they simply danced, step after step, turn after turn, and it was all so much smoother than anything Reeve had expected. It was almost pleasant, even if it was strange to allow someone else to lead for the moment. He leaned forward as the song slowed down, and he let his head rest against Chaos.

There was a thrum to him that wasn’t a pulse, precisely. It was a rhythm. It was something like a pulse, and Reeve’s eyes closed as he simply felt it. He hadn’t felt that rhythm since Meteorfall. Since before that, honestly.

He hadn’t felt that rhythm since he stood on the Plate and watched his city–

“There you go again,” Chaos murmured, and Reeve did jerk when he felt those teeth against his ear. Chaos moved them, dropping his hands to cup Reeve’s ass, to haul him up and forsake the dance they’d been pretending at. Reeve’s breath caught in his throat as Chaos pulled him up high enough to make eye contact, and Reeve’s heart pounded in his chest. Chaos tilted his head, watching him, and he was so close that Reeve could feel his breath.

“What?” Reeve managed after a second.

“Thinking,” Chaos replied, and before Reeve could even try to come up with a response, Chaos had kissed him.

Reeve shivered, opening up for it, kissing him back with more hunger than Reeve had thought himself capable of. Chaos’s hold tightened on him, nails digging in slightly, and Reeve pulled away from the kiss to gasp, to try to make himself focus again. Chaos didn’t put him down, though, and Reeve didn’t ask him to.

It was another step. Another movement, only this time, Reeve wasn’t sure he knew the music anymore. It had been long enough…

“I can taste your fear,” Chaos said, and Reeve shuddered. "I won’t drink deep this time,“ he added.

Drink deep of what, exactly?

Reeve didn’t ask. He just nodded, and this time, _he_ kissed Chaos.


End file.
